I Die A Little Death
by Sweet Fallacy
Summary: A story primarily based on George and Yukari. It's the first reunion of Paradise Kiss since they graduated five years ago, but it seems that their struggle for identity lives on.
1. Chapter 0 The Faux Chapter

**Chapter 0 - The Faux Chapter**

First of all, I do not in anyway own Paradise Kiss or it's characters. If I did, do you really think I'd be sharing George or Seiji with the likes of you? In fact, I'd probably lock them in a closet together. :grins:

Having only watched the anime recently, I can understand if some curious reader stumbles upon this and doesn't know the background story. Hopefully there will be enough hinting or blatant explaining on my part for you to get a general idea of the history of their relationships.

I have not read the manga, so this doesn't correspond to that aspect. Sorry!

Anything else?

Oh! That's right! For those of you not aware of the anime or manga, the names may get confusing.

**Yukari Hayasaka:** Also known as Caroline. Isabella calls her "Carrie" for short. She's a model.

**George Koizumi**: His name is actually Jouji, but friends call him George for style. His parents and some of their friends call him "Junior." His goal is to be a fashion designer.

**Isabella:** She is actually a man named Daisuke Yamamoto. He's been friends with George since third grade when he first became a crossdresser. They've been making dresses together ever since. I'll be referring to him with female nouns as a matter of respect for his decision to become a woman.

**Miwako Sakurada:** Yukari's best friend, an employee of Happy Berry.

**Arashi Nagase:** Miwako's childhood friend and boyfriend.

**Hiroyuki Tokumori:** Miwako's and Arashi's friend since childhood, plus he was Yukari's classmate at the Seiei Academy. He also goes by Hiro.

**Mikako Yamaguchi:** Miwako's older sister and the designer for Happy Berry.

**Seiji Kisaragi:** A make-up artist.

**Kaori Aso:** Another designer. Graduate of Yazawa Gakuen (Yaza school). She won the fashion competition in her second year, thus winning a scholarship to study abroad. She's residing in London.

**Rozue Shimamoto: **Yukari's modelling agent.

**Yukino:** George's Mother, a former model and friend of Rozue.

**Tsutomi Yamaguchi:** Miwako's husband, a photographer.

Paradise Kiss was a brand of clothing made by four students of Yazawa Gakuen, a fashion school in Japan. The four students being George, Isabella, Miwako and Arashi. They only sold one dress before they graduated.

I'll be using different languages, though very little. It'll mostly be Japanese, but the beginning will have some French too. Look to the bottom of the page for meanings.

I hope you enjoy! Feedback is much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 1

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**

_"Lonely in Gorgeous" Yeah... _

_Party night...I'm breaking my heart _

_I want you to find me and hold me now _

_My headlights are shining _

_...where are you bad boy? _

_I wipe away my tears with the scarf of love _

_and I can't see anything _

_I want to gather up the stardust _

_and throw them at you _

_Why should I care? _

_You can't love anyone but yourself... _

"Lonely in Gorgeous" by Tommy february6

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**

Under a star-spackled blanket of black sky sat a small cafe. It wasn't a high class restaurant with an exotic menu, but it had it's own auspicious charm. It's outdoor patio allowed the senses to enjoy the commodious feeling of the open sky while remaining secluded from the busy streets behind a wall of preened greenery. An ideal location for romance and intimate conversation.

This is where Yukari found herself having an unobjectable, perhaps even pleasant, evening. The moon was full, casting the world beyond the circle of candlelight into sharp contrast. The cool breeze was soft, nearly lulling her to sleep as it gently combed through her long locks. Music leaked from indoors, no doubt a lilting tune of love and passion. She idly traced the rim of her wineglass, again and again in a slow circle. She was tempted to dip her finger into the intoxicating liquid to see if she could make the glass sing. Deeming the action inappropriate, she admitted to herself that she may have had too much to drink. Her mind was entirely too vagrant, floating from one disconnected observation to the next.

It was inevitable for her perusal to return to the man seated across from her. He had naturally silky black hair, much like her own. His eyes were also brown, but a slightly darker shade with a hint of green. His face was flawless, with high cheekbones and a square chin. His features were not particularly soft, but not as sharp as some of the models she was acquainted with. A perfect balance between boyish and masculine appeal.

She liked how his eyes always gave the impression that he was smiling, even though he acted so seriously. She found that it pleased her to watch his practiced hand brush aside his bangs to reveal those expressive eyes. It was easy to see what had drawn her to Hiroyuki Tokumori when they were still classmates.

He was reminiscing about a class trip they had when Yukari had nearly broken her neck after falling down a cliff of sorts. She never did explain how she achieved that disgraceful feat, and she had no intention of correcting the matter. Her honor partially intact, she smiled wanly as he continued the anecdote. She remembered it clearly and still winced at the recollection. She had risked her life to sneak taking a picture of her crush, Tokumori-kun. Despite her embarrassment, she later felt that it was well worth it and kept the photograph in her student handbook.

_I wonder whatever happened to that picture. I know I still have it somewhere, but the last place I remember putting it is in the back of my desk drawer soon after I met..._

Of all times for her thoughts to wander back to her old love, it just _had_ to be in the midst of her long awaited date with Tokumori. She had taken such care to make tonight perfect. Normally she'd use any excuse to dress up in one of George's creations, but not tonight. Now she was sporting a sleek, black cocktail dress. It was simple, but elegant. Not too extravagant for a first official date, but enough to impress. Besides, it felt wrong to wear one of her ex's designs when she was being pursued by another.

_Not that George should mind,_ Yukari grumbled inwardly, _but I don't want to risk offending Hiro if he were to possibly recognize it._

Yukari blinked back to reality when she noticed her date staring intently at her in concern. His lips were moving, but the foreign sounds refused to register. She shook her head and laughed nervously, dismissing her inattentiveness as the results of too much wine. Hiro let the issue slide, but the frown worrying his features let Yukari know that he wasn't convinced.

Instead Hiro opted for a more diplomatic approach. He didn't need to ask twice for Yukari to accompany him for a walk to take advantage of such a beautiful night. They walked side by side, Yukari's arm tucked securely in the crook of Hiro's. They laughed gaily over mishaps surrounding their line of work, both surprised and amused at the incidents that could occur in such contrasting careers.

"I always thought of models as a different species all together. They're so beautiful and graceful that it's inhuman, but even _you_ seem accident prone when flustered."

Yukari turned her nose up at the back-handed compliment. His tone had been so matter-of-fact that he might as well be commenting on the weather. She looked up to retort, but came up short as she noticed the way his eyes spoke of mischeif. _Is Hiro-kun... baiting me?_ Her mind reeled at the uncharacteristic playfulness, but recovered quickly. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed as his free hand caressed the knuckles of her captured appendage. Both gazes followed his movement and caught the flash of his wristwatch's face.

"After midnight already, I hadn't realized it was so late!"

"Neither had I. We must have walked quite a ways. Do your feet hurt?"

"A little," she admittedly sheepishly, "but I'm used to walking around all day in heels. It's part of the job." Truth be told, Yukari hardly noticed any discomfort until he had asked.

"I can imagine," He offered her a shadow of a smirk, Yukari's mouth shaping an "o" in her continued awe of Hiro's previously nonexistent playful side. "I'll call a cab. We'll go back to my car and I'll drive you home."

"I may as well take the cab back to my place after dropping you off. It is late after all and you'll need your rest for work tomorrow."

"Oh no, it's nothing. Please, let me drive you home."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**

In the dead of night, little disturbed the almost eerie silence of a building typically bustling with activity. With the rising sun comes a transition that breathes life into these empty halls. Ambitious, fashion school graduates from all over the world gather here to share in a passion many dream of, but few can make into a successful career. This building housed a team well reknowned as an elitist group of brilliant minds for the world of haute couture. This building was La Maison De Dernière Mode, though most Parisians have come to refer to it simply as The House.

Despite this giant's stagnant appearance in slumber, one room was currently occupied. A solitary man sat hunched over his work with a coffee gone cold as his only companion. The ticking of a forgotten clock droned on, soft music unheeded, and the relentless scratching of pencil on paper did little to unsettle the quietude. After spending most of the night locked away in this studio, George wanted nothing more than to continue unabated. When he was designing, each composition was an inspired specimen of idealism born from the depths of his artistic soul. Even at the lastest of hours, he restlessly sought after creating the impossible to make dreams come true in his fashion.

It is needless to say that he was nothing less than perturbed when someone softly cleared their throat, signalling a disruption to his laborous campaign. He slanted a bored look at the intruder, identifying him as a considerably shorter man named Serge. He waited in silence as the visitor fidgeted under his heavy gaze, but the discomfort didn't last long. Seeming to recall his purpose for entering uninvited, Serge's chest puffed up with importance. Without a word, he hazardously swung about a torso to stand between them.

George blinked at the object, ignoring the man waiting expectantly behind it, "What is this for?" It certainly seemed harmless, but there had to be an ulterior motive for a coworker from the House to present him with it out of the blue. He prodded it suspiciously, but the torso merely rolled back under the force of his forefinger.

"You need a torso to make a dress," Serge gestured to his latest show of altruism expansively. If he was disappointed by George's lack of enthusiastic praise, he didn't let on. Proud of his own thoughtfulness, he struck a powerful pose with his fisted hands fitted to his waist. George wondered if the chibi-sized man's ribs would break if his chest swelled any more, valiantly fighting off the smile that threatened to breach with the image that thought conjured.

"Yes, but what urged you to give it to me in the middle of the night?"

Serge seemed content to ignore the question, side-stepping the torso in favor of locating a stool. He perched himself on top, looking more like a vulture leering down at his choice of prey. George forced himself to turn back to his drawings to hide any possible telltale sign of his silent observations.

"Isabella told Ari about the dress you're working on. They were very excited over your secret project, but wouldn't share any details. It took some convincing, but Isabella gave me the measurements and I swiped this from work," Serge waved at the torso once more, determined not to leave his magnanimous offer neglected.

Sensing that the fellow designer would not leave sooner if he were to be ignored, George cautiously covered his sketches from a particular set of prying eyes. Standing with a flourish, he made a show of stalking about in exaggerated examination, "Hn, I'm impressed. I thought you'd grab the nearest convenient excuse to drop by." He cradled his chin, feigning a critical look, "But this looks to be the right size."

Judging from the brief scuffling noise in the background, Serge had nearly launched himself forward, "Excuse? George! What are you accusing me of?" The indignation rang clear in his voice, a sign that George may have hit a nerve.

He trailed back to his previous position in a plush chair, opting to gingerly drape himself instead of hunched over the table once more. With an insolently elegant shrug, he waved his palm over the clutter of papers, "A sneak preview of my 'secret project' of course. I thought that much was obvious." George was careful to school his features into his signature 'poker face' in anticipation to how thoroughly he was going to irritate Serge for his intrusion.

"And here I thought I was doing you a favor," Serge crossed his arms in a huff, turning his nose up in an ineffective snub.

The move was so predictable that George had to swallow an urge to smile condescendingly, "I'd hate to disappoint you, but I have no need of your... charitable endeavors."

The deliberate pause was not missed, but Serge must have recognized it as the diverting tactic it was, "Quoi? How come?"

His steadfast hold to the main issue would have been cause for admiration, but George was only getting warmed up. "I won't be making the dress here," he offered vaguely.

Serge frowned in response, obviously confused by this news. He looked as though he wanted to pin George to the wall for answers, but instead eyed his distrustfully. "What do you mean?" he pressed.

George diplomatically refrained from clucking his tongue in reprimand for Serges persistence. What he _couldn't_ prevent was the derisive note leaking into his voice as he lightly teased, "Exactly what I said."

"You don't have to be so rude about it!"

If he were anyone else, he'd be exuding a suffocating air of smugness. As things were, he feigned a look of wounded innocence, "Is such hostility called for?" Serge's cheeks instantly flooded with pink, and George swooped in to dig his guilt trip in a little further. "It's in bad taste, particularly when you didn't even call in advance to announce your intention to drop in," his chastising made him feel as though he were lecturing a grade schooler. With Serge's occasional lapse in mental capacity, this was nothing new.

"I thought it would be a nice surprise," his fingers curled into tight fists by his sides. George could imagine that Serge was forcing himself not to fiddle his thumbs in embarrassment.

_Is he... pouting?_

"Well thank you, it was certainly a surprise, but I'm afraid that it isn't necessary. I apologize for any inconvenience this has given you."

"How can you thank someone in such a punitive tone? And you still haven't told me why you're not making the dress."

"Oh no, don't get me wrong, I will be making the dress."

"But you said-"

"I said I wouldn't be making it _here_."

"Then where?"

George threw him a wink, "It's a secret."

"You are so impossible, y'know that?"

"With you always reminding me, how could I forget?"

"And it's really irritating when you answer my question with a question. What am I going to do with you?"

"Love me inspite of my faults?"

"...Particularly when the question is _rhetorical_," Serge evacuated his seat and turned his back, clearly exasperated. Indulging himself with a self-satisfied smirk for a job well done, George allowed his company a moment of pause.

"So when are you going start working on this secret project at an undeterminable site?"

"I don't know."

"You don- quoi? How could you not _know?_ All commisions have a deadline."

"The date hasn't been set yet."

"Then why would you agree to it? With no date, the contract wouldn't be binding."

"I never signed a contract."

At this admission, Serge smacked his forehead in disbelief, "Idiot! You _always_ get a contract. Otherwise you'll waste all this time and money on supplies only to have them retract their decision without a cent for compensation."

George merely shrugged with his usual insufferably nonchalant demeanor, "C'est la vie."

"Don't give me that bullshit. What is this about? You're taking on commissions without consent and not even following procedure. Are you leaving the house or something? Madame Cvalda won't be too pleased, even if you are her favorite pet."

"Serge, I don't think-"

"That's right, you don't think. You don't think about anyone but yourself. What is Isabella going to do, huh? We all know the story about how she left everything behind to work with you."

"I never asked her to-"

"That doesn't matter! She followed you all the same because that's what friends do. Are you going to ask her to drop her life all over again? Or are you just going to abandon her, your best friend?"

George gritted his teeth hard to keep from barking back. Yelling or knocking out his front teeth wouldn't solve anything. He needed to end this now before he truly lost his patience. Forcing his teeth to cease their jaw-aching grind, he dropped his voice to a flat, indifferent tone, "Despite what you may think, Isabella has always made her own decisions. You would do best to remember that." The implication was preposturous. It was true that he had never asked Isabella to join him in Paris, nor would he ever dream of forcing her hand to go forth with such a life-altering step. He was glad to find her waiting for him on that ship five years ago, but she didn't tell him of her plan. As his childhood friend, Isabella was well aware that George would have tried to talk her out of going with him if he had known.

Serge said not a word as he glowered lividly at him, waiting for him to fess up to his guilt. To confess that he was as heartless and manipulative as many believed him to be. George knew this game and came prepared with a well practiced distraction. His bland gaze never wavered from contact, but his mind focused elsewhere. Concentrating on his thoughts, he merely had to wait until his opponent gave up.

_Visualize the fabric. Snow white silk with a soft sheen that glows brilliantly under a spotlight. A twirl of the skirt sending out ripples like water. Feel the material. Light, soft, and so smooth that it's hard to grasp. Untwine the spindle of thread, lick the end and push it through the eye of the needle. Stick it through the silk, but be careful. Don't want to stab your own finger and stain the delicate cloth. Slide on a bead, as clear as a raindrop, and through the cloth once more. Follow the mapping of the pattern's design, and poke the needle through again. Place on another bead. It'll look like specks of dew on a flower petal. Slip the needle through. These little spots will glitter when the light catches them. Pull the needle upward. The embrodery will line the hems with these beads, as though they were picked up as the bride walked through a misted meadow just moments prior. Another bead and down goes the needle._

Serge looked away first. "Merde," he muttered, kicking the defenseless torso. It skidded a few feet, small metal tires screeching noisily, slicing the heavy tension in the room. "You're such a connard," he said so softly that George nearly missed it. He was gone before George could confront the rude comment.

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**

**Translations:**

name-kun - "kun" is attached to the end of a name as sort of a term of endearment. (Japanese)

La Maison De Dernière Mode - The House of High Fashion (French)

Quoi? - What? (French)

C'est la vie. - That's life. (French)

Merde - shit (French)

Connard - general insult; asshole, jackass, prick, etc. (French)

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**


	3. Chapter 3

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**

Sunlight poured gently into the room, casting warm patches of amber. The setting could have been from a painting. Nothing in the room stirred save for the gentle rise and fall of a woman's chest as she breathed rhythmically. At first glance, the lithe figure appeared to be lounging comfortably. A closer inspection would show that there was a nearly imperceptible stiffness in her frame. In her poised hand was a card of formal design, her eyes situated on the names presented.

_Arashi and Miwako Nagase._

Yukari had been expecting this card for some time now. It came as little surprise that they'd be getting married. Having been together so long, it was the next logical step. But to expect something and for it to actually happen were different matters entirely. Now she held undeniable proof in the palm of her hand. She had to wait for it to be literally spelled out for her to catch up with the enormity of it all.

They're getting married. It was yet another change that took them one step further from who they used to be... Paradise Kiss.

_Will George be there?_

A small smile graced her lips, _Of course he will._ A bubble of nervous excitement, different from the joy she felt for her friends, accompanied that thought. It was bittersweet, enough to cause a hitch in her chest as she choked down the echo of sobs long spent.

It had been five years since he moved to France. George's career had blossomed splendidly, but why shouldn't it have? He was rich, talented, and very charismatic. Isabella had left with him that night, not informing anyone of her decision until after they made it safely to their destination. She made sure to keep in touch with her friends still in their homeland, calling to check in or sending the occasion cluster of pictures or magazine cut-outs to offer a piece of George's success. It took her a year to stop asking 'Carrie' to move to Paris.

_"Why don't you come to Paris? You would love it here! It's another world entirely, so beautiful and glamorous."_

_"Isabella..."_

_"He doesn't say it, but he misses you. Carrie, it's every woman's dream to live for love."_

_"So you always tell me, but sometimes love isn't enough."_

_"Carrie..."_

_"I swear, you're worse than George with your doe-eyed romanticism! Give him my regards."_

_"Hai."_

_"Arigato, Isabella."_

Yukari furiously swiped at the tears on her cheeks, "Baka! Haven't you cried enough?" Despite her self-scolding, the tears did not stop. She stood purposefully and fought her childish urges to run to safety. She was alone in her own apartment. There was nothing to hide from. Where was there to run anyway?

She took controlled, measured steps to her bathroom. She was no longer a naive child. There was no point in throwing a tantrum when nothing could come of it. When she made up her mind, she stuck to it and lived with the consequences. She may not have been the smartest girl or come from a wealthy family, but she worked hard to be where she was today. She had grown out of this weakness and the upcoming wedding was no reason for a lapse.

She scrubbed her face until it shone a healthy pink. She didn't bother to look directly into her own eyes when she faced her medicine cabinet mirror. She knew what she would see there and she resented it. Mornings like this were a dime a dozen.

_Morning?_

"Mou! I'm late!"

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**

"The model is here!"

"Caroline!" Carolled a few anonymous voices in unison, but Yukari brushed them aside as politely as she could manage.

"We were worried about you, Yukari-chan," a man dressed casually in a floral button-up shirt and designer slacks approached her. He was tall and utterly gorgeous. Feathery hair reached past his shoulders, glowing shades of pale gold in the artificial lighting. The top few buttons of his silk shirt were left unfastened, leaving a flash of his smooth chest revealed enticingly to admirers. He grasped her by the shoulders, gently steering her toward a vacant vanity.

"Gomen nasai Seiji-san! I lost track of the time."

"What has gotten into you? You're never late. You don't even have a stitch of make-up on!" Despite his chastising, he smiled reassuringly. Whenever he smiled, Yukari could swear she saw faint sparkles dreamily glimmer about his countenance. It was hard not to feel at ease around him, after you got over the initial star-struck reaction that is.

_Miwako was right about him. Planet Sparkle indeed._

"What are you saying? That I have bad skin?" Yukari teased, "Besides, I thought make-up was _your_ job."

Seiji chuckled good-naturedly, his grey eyes twinkling with gentle mirth, "Gomen, Yukari-chan. I didn't mean it like that. You're ravishing on your own and don't need help from the likes of me. Nonetheless, I still like to fuss over you, it soothes my professional side."

"Now who is teasing?" Yukari shared her own delighted laugh, "Anyway, I was late because the wedding invitation came in the mail today."

"I received mine today as well," Seiji nodded in understanding. "Exciting, ne?"

"Hai! With Mikako in charge, this will be the biggest event of the year!"

"Poor Arashi. I heard he wanted to have a small ceremony between friends and family, but the reception is going to be crazy. And now he has to deal with Mikako bossing him around!"

"The press will be all over it whether Arashi likes it or not. Mikako had the right idea to invite some of the media to the after party. Maybe this way they'll be more respectful toward the private ceremony. But who can blame them with that guest list? To have so many famous names gathered for such a joyous occasion is a tantalizing opportunity."

"Even our dear Prince Charming will be there, ne?"

"Jouji? Did he... did you speak to him?"

"Yukari-chan..."

Whatever Seiji may have wanted to add was cut off by the photographer's assistant. She was a petite woman dressed as sharply as a lawyer, obviously new to her position under the typically easy-going Tsutomi. She coughed not too subtly to call the couple's attention, "Miss Caroline? If you're ready, we're all set to get started." Her round, black eyes darted over the model, openly evaluating.

"Hai," the model subconciously straightened under the assistant's scrutiny. When she received a nod of approval, Yukari flashed an appreciative smile to her companion.

"Good luck, 'Caroline.'"

"Arigato Seiji-san."

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**

**Translations:**

Arigato - thank you

Baka - general insult; idiot, fool, moron, etc.

Mou - to mourn, to lament

Gomen (nasai) - I'm sorry

name-san - the basic neutral polite suffix, equivalent to "Mr.," "Mrs.," "Miss" or "Ms." in English

name-chan - is the equivalent of "kun" for babies and girls, but it is also used when an intimate friendship or other relationship exists between the speaker and the person being referred to. While "chan" is rarely applied to adult men, in situations where two men have had a long and close relationship, they will often be "chan" to each other.

**x**

**..xXx..**

**x**


End file.
